I wish I met more people, but then again I feel overwhelmed when more than one person contacts me at once. I think maybe it is just I crave more width.
More stories, more challenges. More and more vocabulary. More to write about;
the heinous and gluttonous
glory, contagion, sex, interrogation, integration
Monotony and spontaneity
It’s all just endless goings on where you edge yourself toward the crumbling cliff top because someone beautiful said there was a crowd down there screaming your name. So you shuffle and shift and sweat beads and drips until you are so close that you can hardly stand to breathe. Worried the fluctuation of air perpetually in and out of your lungs might cause a tremor in the earth.
Your ankles are weak but that beautiful person has an ear to ear smile and is egging you on, promising you the love you think is love is “just a little further“….
Your hands are shaking hard like when you were six and your mother asked you to shake out all the lumps in the instant pancake mix- you know, the one that comes in a plastic bottle.
Just add water.
Just shake, come on now, it ain’t hard.
You think that perhaps the wind changed and now you’re stuck quaking and quivering like a lost child who wish they’d meet more people.
Different people who wouldn’t mind if you couldn’t shake out all the lumps or you couldn’t stop shaking.